Reconcile
by harbinger333
Summary: The start to a (hopefully much longer) story about Mac and Dick coming to terms with Cassidy and exploring their connection. Takes place during college, with Veronica still at Hearst and happily with Logan (I can't bear to keep them apart). Rated M for language and possible later chapters. All rights to Rob Thomas, with my infinite gratitude.
1. Chapter 1

"Never again."

She leaned her slick forehead against the battered vinyl, the only opponent she would ever allow so close to her. She gave the 120 pound bag one more shove for good measure before ripping off her right glove with her teeth, both falling to the bench after a few seconds. These workouts usually took place after hours – she had helped Sam, the owner, out of a serious credit card hacking jam last year, so he gave her a key – but she had an ethics test the next day. She unwound her hand wraps in the practiced manner of someone who boxed compulsively, someone who boxed to fight demons, not people. Which, if she were honest with herself, is exactly who she was.

It was the way Mac finished all of her clandestine training sessions - with a quiet, determined promise to no one but herself that she was never going to feel as weak and as lost as she had that night at the Neptune Grand. The night Cassidy Casablancas had been revealed as the profoundly damaged, profoundly monstrous person he was, just before throwing himself to his death off the hotel. It was the night that had forced her to understand the true meaning of the word "shatter".

Again, if she were honest, Mac knew deep down that she couldn't shadow-box the actual shadows; they would always be there. She couldn't truly prepare herself for that kind of paralysis, when the entire world keeps moving but you're stuck in horrifying slow motion. But the boxing helped, and the therapy helped, and her friends and family helped, until she was confident that she could handle the inevitable kind of tragedies that life throws at you. And she wasn't going to feel so utterly raw and weak again.

Never again.

The waves were just not on his side today.

He paddled out repeatedly anyway, but they kept breaking too early for any good rides. After about two hours of trying futilely, he gave up and made for shore.

The waves may have been shit, but the day was perfect – a little warm for typical October in Southern California, hovering generously around 72 degrees, and skies so clear you could barely tell where they met the ocean. He was tempted to just lay out in the sand for the rest of the afternoon, but he could feel his sunscreen wearing thin and he knew that Logan would have his ass if he left him alone for another business lecture. That kid couldn't even spell "amortization".

Dick lifted himself out of the sand begrudgingly and trotted back up to the beach house, new board in tow. He had finally convinced Logan to buy a surprisingly modest house (well, for two trust fund babies anyway) on some prime beach front property. Dick just couldn't stand to watch Logan wallow in a trashed hotel room anymore. It didn't seem right. Say what you will about the elder Casablancas, but let it never be said that he didn't look out for Logan Echolls.

Of course, it hadn't mattered that much, because he and Ronnie got back together within a month of the two of them moving. Now she stayed there about half time, splitting between Logan's evidently thinly-walled room and the tiny off-campus apartment she shared with Mac. Dick and Veronica had never really gotten along so swimmingly, and he didn't blame her. Between his albeit unintentional role in the horrible things that happened to her at Shelley Pomeroy's party, and the way-more-direct connection between him and the devastation his brother had wrought, he didn't know how she could even stand to know he was in the same state, let alone the same house.

So he, Logan, Veronica, and Mac all kind of orbited each other these days, Logan and Veronica's trajectories overlapping with near-nauseating frequency. Anyway, it was all fine, since he still spent a lot of nights at the Pi Sig house. And of course, he genuinely wanted his best friend to be happy. He didn't get it with Veronica, but he definitely saw it. Anyone with eyes could see that those two were going to keep colliding until it stuck for good.

Come to mention a collision, he expected Mac to explode any day now. He hated how much pain Beaver had caused her, hated himself for not helping or stopping his psychotic brother before he did all the damage he did. Most of all, Dick hated how her quiet tolerance, sometimes almost pleasant friendliness toward him was entirely too merciful. She should hate him. She should try to physically assault him every time he got within fifty yards of her. But she was just so _nice_. It felt to him too much like forgiveness, and he did _not_ deserve her forgiveness. Probably not anyone's, but _especially_ hers.

As he trudged up the creaking steps toward the house, he wondered if, after all, he even deserved the waves to be on his side.

Mac wasn't even half way up the stairs to her apartment when her phone chirped out "The Pink Panther" theme song. Veronica, of course.

"Hey V, I'm almost to the door, I'm sorry I'm late." She glanced at her watch and hustled a little more.

"No problem Q. I was actually wondering... how much do you love me?" Overly chipper.

A favor was imminent, Mac knew without a doubt. "Um… Enough to help you hide a body, but not enough to actually kill someone unless they really, _really_ deserved it. How's that?"

"That's the perfect amount! Would you be up for moving our movie night to Logan's tonight? He just informed me that he and Dick are going to TJ _again_ this weekend, so I won't get to see him like I'd planned." Mac heard a muffled thump and "ow!" even over the line.

Logan's thready voice came through the noise, like Veronica was muffling him with her hand, "I said I was sorry! I got the dates wrong! Mac, please? If not to save me from more violence, do it because I bought those super fancy vegan cookies and quote-unquote 'ice cream' for you!"

She rolled her eyes, not really wanting to go through the trouble of putting on pants to watch Disney movies with her roommate, but also not wanting to be responsible for Logan's soon-to-be-dislocated shoulder. Plus he had the good cookies, and the better sound system. She should know - she wired it all. "Yeah, that's fine. But you guys are going to have to start without me; I just got back from the gym so I have to shower. Be there in half an hour."

"I owe you one, Mac!" Logan shouted again before the line went dead, probably from the force of Veronica's glare.

Mac rushed to shower, plaited her bobbed hair, and put on black leggings and a super soft tshirt before she grabbed her keys again. The outfit was a little clingier than she preferred to wear in public, but she was too sore to put on anything other than glorified pajamas. Grabbing black boots and a floral scarf for good measure, she went to rescue Logan from Veronica's (probably) good-natured wrath.

Fucking Veronica, man.

It wasn't that he didn't like Mac. He did, actually – she was quirky and so smart, and she never made him feel like an asshole for skipping class or making innuendos. But that was just it. Dick was more of a "drink to ignore your problems" kind of guy than the "confront them head on" kind.

Yet here she was, again, smiling shyly at him, trying to put everyone at ease and not realizing that it wasn't her responsibility to do so.

"Hey, Logan. Dick. Columbo." She winked at Ronnie, who shot a finger gun at her in response.

"Hey Mac-Attack. Thanks again for saving me. Your cookies are on the counter." Logan smiled gratefully. He was so scared of his teeny-tiny girlfriend. If it had been anyone but V, Dick would have mocked him with a whipping sound. But Ronnie scared the shit out of him too.

"No problem. Anyone want anything from the kitchen?"

"Some real cookies, please?" V asked as Mac let her backpack fall to the floor unceremoniously and shrugged off a too-big fatigue jacket. Fuck, when had she gotten so hot?

Her black leggings hugged a surprisingly long pair of toned legs, and her thin t-shirt clung to her torso in all the right places. Dick couldn't help but think about how soft it would feel if he were to graze his fingers over her hip. She had filled out a little since high school; she was still petite, but had softened from the boyish grunge-ish girl his brother had loved (in his own twisted way) to a woman with curves that suited her frame perfectly. She looked strong, too.

Logan coughed pointedly, and Dick whipped his head around to see his best friend stifling a chuckle and Ronnie glaring daggers at him. He flushed a little but tried to play it cool, be the frat boy everyone knew. He was good at it.

"What's up Dick? See a unicorn or something over there?" Veronica ground out, too brightly.

"Mm, more like a pussycat." He quipped back, eliciting a disgusted sound from V and a breakthrough laugh from Logan. "Relax, Ronnie. I'm not interested in Ghostworld. I just admire her assets."

"Wow, what a relief." Mac said sardonically, returning from behind them with the snacks balanced in her left hand and two beer bottles in her right. He took the boxes from her instinctively as she came around the couch.

Eyeing her booze, he asked, "Planning on drowning some sorrows there Mackie?"

"Well I was going to give this one to you, since yours was empty, but now I think I might use it to forget you talking about my 'assets'." She handed it to him anyway, sinking into the couch between him and Ronnie. He hadn't even noticed that he had finished his first beer, when did she?

She used the hem of her t-shirt to twist off the bottle cap, holding out her palm for him to give her his. Dropping them both on to the side table, Mac wondered when she and Dick had gotten into this non-verbal rhythm. It was efficient, but it made her uncomfortable for some reason. Dick always seemed distinctly aware of her presence – on edge around her, even – and she could not figure out why. She went well out of her way to be congenial to Logan's longtime bestie, despite their awkward and tragic history.

Mac didn't blame Dick for anything that happened with Cass, but from what she gleaned from Veronica, Dick was still in a deep self-loathing over the ordeal. Grief, she understood. He had lost his brother; it didn't matter what Beaver had done, he was still Dick's little brother. Guilt, sure. He hadn't been around much emotionally for Cassidy, even goaded him to a point slightly past normal sibling rivalry. But she didn't understand how he could blame himself so stubbornly for the abuse, Veronica, the crash, the suicide, even her own trauma. In her mind, at least, any role he had played had been atoned for with Dick's surprising maturation. Sure, he was still a bro-y Pi Sig, and he had a dirty sense of humor, and an active sexual appetite. But she could see a gentleness in him now, a caring, protective side that had been distinctly absent in high school. Veronica had noticed it too, much as she hated to admit it.

He loved Logan, anyone could see that. And Mac thought he loved Veronica, in a way tempered by very legitimate fear. It sent a pang through her that Dick didn't love her in any way, and another because it hurt in the first place. Mac wasn't sure what she wanted from Dick, but she knew she wanted this charged tension to end.


	2. Chapter 2

Logan and Veronica went to bed even before they finished _Pocahontas._ Lightweights.

Sometime during the movie, Mac had slid closer to him, enough so that he could feel the increasing weight of her compact body against his shoulder as she drifted closer to sleep. It was pleasant, actually, but that in and of itself irritated Dick.

She had had about two drinks already, which was clearly near her limit. Christ, it was like living with a bunch of freshman during syllabus week. No one could hold their liquor worth shit.

He exited Netflix and began jostling her slightly. "Mac, I think it's time to go to bed."

She leaned forward and slid her hand up his thigh, breathing, "I was wondering when you would offer that." Her lopsided smile and lidded eyes tugged something in him, but also made it abundantly clear that she was too tipsy to leave.

He easily stood up and brushed her off in the same movement. She pouted. _Not fair_ , he thought. She looked really good, and inebriated girls were kind of his forte, but this was Mac. No way in hell could he ever make a move on the only good thing his brother ever cared about, especially when she was still doing that saccharine forgiveness act that bristled him so much.

"I wasn't 'offering' anything, Mackie. Though believe me, you'd be begging if I were." He winked for good measure; she managed half an eye roll in response. "But you shouldn't drive. Do you want to crash on the couch tonight?"

"I love this song." She dazedly replied, referring to "Cecilia and the Satellite" coming softly from the speakers on the home screen. She gave him a tiny smile, so fast he almost missed it. "Yeah, if you don't mind. But I don't want to go to sleep yet…"

Dick stared at her, puzzled. She wasn't actually propositioning him, was she? Did she think he was someone else?

"Let's play Never Have I Ever." That made way more sense. Dick went to the fridge and pulled out two more beers, trying to figure out what feeling had washed over him when she made her not-at-all amorous intentions clear. It almost, _almost_ , felt like disappointment.

"You're on, Ghostworld." He handed her a third beer, wondering if that were really a good idea, and clanked it against his own.

As he settled back into the couch, Mac couldn't help but feel a little proud of herself. He had turned away awfully quickly at her intentionally ambiguous statement, but she had seen desire flash in his eyes. She knew it must be in hers. She was a little buzzed, enough to see Dick as the incredibly attractive man he was without the haze of Cassidy looming around him, but not enough to actually act on it _. That would take a whole bottle of Tanqueray,_ she thought briefly.

She raised her beer to him and took a fortifying sip before asking starting her turn. "Never have I ever… gotten married."

He drank around a bark of laughter. "I see Logan told you about that. So much for the sacred bonds of friendship." He shook his head ruefully. "Fine, MacKenzie, if you want to play that way. Never have I ever scammed my classmates out of their money."

His eyebrows shot up playfully, causing her chest to tighten a little. It reminded her of Cassidy, but it didn't have any of the actual malice that tainted the action in her mind's eye. It was warm, somehow. "Veronica! Wow, we really need new friends." They both laughed, and the sounds seemed to match up.

She unwound her scarf absently, not caring how thin and low her t-shirt was. If it distracted him and gave her a little ego boost in the process, all the better. She pressed on. "Never have I ever…" Was it too soon to make it dirty? She knew it would get there eventually, and she wanted to throw him off his game. If she was going to succeed in breaking down these mysterious walls with Dick, he needed to be as out of his element as he currently believed her to be. So no, not too early. "Never have I ever had sex with a girl."

He rolled his eyes, quipping, "Fuck, it's a good thing we're not drinking for each one." She laughed at that, at the simple, unabashed truth in it. She envied him his "romantic" history. Except for Madison, obviously. "Alright, never have I ever had anal." Woah, that escalated quickly. Evidently two could play Mac's game.

She raised the bottle to her lips just enough for his jaw to nearly hit the floor, then lowered it with a hopefully drunk-sounding laugh. "Kidding! God I wish you could have seen your face." She was still cracking up; he had a hand against his chest as though he could slow his thrilled heartbeat from the outside.

He shoved her with his other arm. "Damn it, Mac! That's a cruel little game. I'm never going to get that image out of my head now."

 _Who are you picturing me with?_ She almost asked. But she knew the answer she wanted, even though it surprised her all the same, and she was sure that it would ruin her endgame whatever it turned out to be. "Sorry man, I couldn't help it. I'm surprised at you though."

He flushed a little. "It is much harder than it sounds. All those sorority girls are so vanilla." He clicks his tongue regretfully.

"If only there were girls outside the Greek system! Imagine the possibilities!" She countered facetiously.

Dick shrugged his irritatingly toned shoulders. "Ah well, c'est la vie. Your turn, Jenna Jameson." Now it was her turn to roll her eyes.

"Alright, alright. Never have I ever participated in Sex Quest."

He drank so easily, and looked so good doing it, that Mac found herself wondering if she was the first girl to fake drunk to get something from Dick. "Never have I ever gotten any kind of body modification."

Fuck.

What were the fucking odds that he would ask that?

She raised the bottle to her lips again, watching him shake his head at her fake-out, until she actually took a swig. His face lit up so brilliantly; she desperately wished it were for a different reason, any other reason. It was a pretty spectacular thing.

"Explain yourself, Cindy." Mac hadn't even been sure that he had known her real name.

"It was a long time ago!"

"That is not a fucking explanation! What did you ink?!"

"Nothing! It's a piercing." He practically cackled after failing to find any visible jewelry on her face. "It's my nipple." She cringed, but he just stared at her like she just told him she actually _was_ Jenna Jameson.

"Holy fucking Christ! I need more details! I need _all_ the details." This was his Christmas. Mac didn't really want to ruin it by telling him the actual story, but she was too rattled to come up with a lie, and the truth would lead her to her ultimate goal much faster anyway.

"Fine, but it's not salacious at all. You're going to be sorely disappointed." He just stared at her expectantly. "It was after…after Cassidy died." She watched as his face clouded and he backed away a little, but kept listening. "You know that he and I never…we never got to be _together._ " She knew he would get the implication; she could spare him actually hearing about his brother's lack of sex life with her. "Anyway, even after everything came out, I still felt like there was something wrong with me, so-"

"There wasn't." He said it so confidently. It sent warmth rushing through her.

She reached out to cover his hand with her own, though it didn't even come close. He didn't jolt away like she half-expected him to. Mac matched his steady eye contact with her own, hoping to convey how grateful she was for the comfort his words gave her. "Thank you. But it took a while for me to believe that. I was pretty down on myself for a few months after Grad night, and a friend suggested I do something to make myself feel a little more confident and desirable. Long story short, I wound up with a barbell through my nipple." She laughed softly, trying to assuage his obvious guilt, and gripped his hand a little tighter.

He smiled weakly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And did it work?"

"A little, actually. It made me feel more appreciative of my body, as cheesy as that sounds. It reminded me that I could take a lot of pain, and it made me feel a little more connected to my sexuality. But it didn't fix any of the real trauma, and I think I always knew that it wouldn't."

Dick stood up aggressively and turned away from her. She was surprised how much the loss of his hand stung. "Yeah well, add it to the list of tragedies we can blame on my brother." He said gruffly, finishing his beer in one shot.

Mac stood up, recognizing her chance. "Dick, I understand that you feel guilty about Cassidy. I'm sure I don't know the whole story, but I get it. But what I cannot wrap my head around is why you can't stand _me_."

His back went ramrod straight, but he didn't turn. "What is it, Dick? I try so hard to be nice to you, friendly even. I mean I need to be civil because I love Veronica and Logan, but I spend time with you voluntarily because I like _you._ So what the fuck is it? Why can't you be in the same room with me unless we're wasted? Why can't you touch me, even accidentally? For Christ's sake, why can't you even _smile_ at me?"

He whirled around so fast, it startled her into taking a step back. "Because you always smile at me!" He shouted. His volume was low, but the venom was still there. She felt exposed and wounded, like he had slapped her. His clear blue eyes, usually so bright and comforting, burned with darkness.

Realization hit her like a second blow, and it stung even worse. " _That's_ what this is about? Fuck, Dick! You don't hate me because you blame me. You hate me because _I don't blame you._ "

Mac just stood there, gaping at him, finally understanding the meaning of the word "deflate". Dick - strong, over-confident, over-sexed, happy-go-lucky Dick - collapsed in on himself. A little Margaret Atwood quote, "I feel like the word 'shatter'", flitted through the part of her mind that wasn't focused on him. She closed the distance between them in an instant. Her hands went to his face; a little thrill went through her at the contact despite the seriousness of the situation. And he didn't pull away, which she took to mean that her plan had worked.

"You should despise me, Mac. Beav tortured you. He made you doubt yourself and then robbed you of your self-confidence in the most perverse way possible. He made you feel _less_ , Mac, and you should hate me – forever – for allowing him to do that. I'm responsible for a lot of the fucked-up shit my brother did, but I can _never_ forgive myself for everything he did to you. Never."

"Then where does that leave me, Dick? Because I have never, could never, blame you for any of it. I would never want to. It's not fair for you to blame yourself for everything that happened to me, and it's especially not fair to punish me because you can't let go of your guilt. So what can I do to move past this?"

After a long moment, she felt the tension ease out of his body. He believed her.

He finally met her eyes, moving his hands to rest interlaced on the small of her back. "I think you just did it, Cindy MacKenzie. I'm just…I'm so sorry." The way he formed the last word, with so much regret, so much feeling, so much relief, shook something loose in her.

She stepped up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss on his cheek, enjoying that little thrill all over. "I know, Dick. But this is where we are, and it feels like a pretty good place to be to me."

He returned the kiss on her opposite cheek, lingering a little longer. When he pulled away, she saw the humor return to his annoyingly perfect face. "You weren't even a tiny bit drunk, were you? This little game of yours was all a big con!"

She laughed, reveling in the comfort it seemed to bring him. "Please, Casablancas. Like I'd ever reveal my secrets."

They broke apart, but it didn't feel the same. They still felt close, and in that tiny little moment, Mac couldn't think of another way they should be.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the kind reviews! I'm trying to keep up with this story, but I just started classes again, so it might take me a bit! I've worked out where I want it to go, and hopefully that helps me to press on! This chapter sees the beginning of an MI case that will continue through most of the story, but rest assured, there will be plenty of MaDi bonding, fluff, and eventually love (obviously). I hope you enjoy!

As always, the Veronica Mars universe, magical and marshmallow-y as it is, belongs to Rob Thomas and not even a little bit to me :/

Dick awoke the next morning from one of the most comfortable nights he'd had in a long time. Mac's smiling face swam into his slightly foggy mind, and he remembered in a second everything they had talked about last night.

After their little heart-to-heart, they had stayed up for another two hours, alternating between laughing over happy memories of Cassidy and comforting each other when those memories inevitably turned sour. Dick lied there, thinking about all the things she had told him, realizing that it was the most they had ever talked. It might actually be the most meaningful conversation he had ever had, maybe even surpassing some of his and Logan's discussions.

And of course, it was pretty hard to get the image of her with a fucking nipple ring off his mind. Maybe lying there next to him. Maybe looking at him with those hooded, big blue eyes he had seen last night when she kissed his cheek…

No.

Even though he knew it was the worst possible time to risk their budding friendship with something more, Dick couldn't stop the warm buzzing that ran through his body at the image.

He disentangled himself lithely from the sheets and grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the chair on his way out of the room. A shirt didn't seem necessary – it never really did. He padded down the hall to the combination office and storage room where he had set Mac up last night, wincing a little at the chill on the hardwood floor as he went. He pushed open the door as quietly as possible, eyeing the empty bunch of blankets on the pull-out couch, and heard the shower running in the ensuite.

He had to fight with everything in him not to go further into the room, and absently questioned the impulse all the way down the stairs. He started a huge pot of extra bold coffee, letting the aroma breathe energy into his languid body. The fridge was pretty much devoid of anything but alcohol, and somehow he divined that Mac wouldn't be satisfied with that kind of breakfast. Rummaging around the spacious kitchen, he discovered a pink pastry box sitting on the counter. Logan must have picked up some stuff for breakfast when he went to get Mac's cookies. It was one of the distinct perks of Logan's perpetually-famished girlfriend being around – he always made sure there was something resembling food around when she was coming. Dick tried really hard not to think about what made Ronnie so hungry when she was at the beach house. It was a constant struggle.

Still, Dick grabbed a twenty and jogged down to the farmer's market that was set up on the beach walk every morning this time of year. He returned ten minutes later, arms loaded with bags of fruit, unsure of what kind of baked goods would mesh with Mac's vegan diet. He thought it was a genuinely ridiculous lifestyle choice, but he saw no reason to make her feel less welcome at his house than she probably already did.

"Woah there, Martha Stewart. How did you even know where the kitchen knives were?" Logan's particularly mumbly voice floated down the stairs. A disheveled Veronica snorted behind him, but she perked up considerably when she spotted the now-full carafe.

"Ha ha." Dick responded, handing her a mug before returning to slicing the cantaloupe he had been mutilating. "It took a minute, but I found it eventually. Like you're Emeril. Between you and Ronnie, I'm surprised neither of you have scurvy, for Christ's sake."

"Excuse you, coffee comes from a fruit, technically. That totally counts." V bumped him while filling her mug.

"It really, really doesn't." Mac's bright voice came from the landing. Her hair was made darker by the dampness, making her face look even fairer and the flush in her cheeks stand out a little more. She was wearing the same clothes as last night, minus the boots. Dick fought back the disappointment that he hadn't gotten to see the way the green "trust me, I'm rich" tee he had given her last night looked against her upper thighs.

Wow, he was totally fucked.

Ronnie's head turned in surprise toward her friend, while Logan just smiled into his coffee as though Mac's presence totally explained Dick's domestic turn. Which, he supposed, it did.

"Q, I thought I was meeting you at the office before your nooner."

Dick choked a little on his coffee, hating himself for his reaction and hating Logan for the enjoying it so much. Dick flipped him off to no avail as Mac rolled her eyes.

"If you mean my twelve o'clock lecture, then yes, that was the plan. But we drank a little more than you two lightweights did last night and I didn't want to drive back to the apartment. I'll just follow you to MI from here."

She got a travel mug from the cabinet as Dick handed her a plate. She smiled at him comfortably before piling on fruit and stealing the other half of Veronica's croissant. The couple watched the exchange with equal interest, Logan with a look of utter joy and satisfaction, Veronica with one of slack-jawed disbelief.

Mac finally noticed the silence after a moment and looked up from her breakfast. "What?"

Ronnie shook her head, deciding it was better to analyze this strange development alone with Mac at a later date. "Nothing, I just expected hell to freeze over before you voluntarily spent the night with Dick Casablancas."

Mac didn't miss the hurt that flashed in Dick's eyes at that. She leaned in, eyes dark. "Oh believe me, Bond, if you'd been there, you would be _volunteering_ for all sorts of things too. Loudly."

Logan burst out laughing while V and Dick sputtered.

An hour later, Mac and Veronica parked their respective cars half a block from Mars Investigations. Mac said a silent "thank you" that Keith was in Santa Barbara chasing a bail jumper; she did not want her part time employer to overhear his daughter's snarky interrogation into her sex life. Mac was sure she'd just turn a never-before-seen shade of red and disappear into the binary world forever.

"Could you have driven any slower? Jesus Mac, it's like you were trying to hit red lights on the way here." Veronica shouted as they ascended the stairs to the second floor office.

"The best laid plans…"

V rolled her eyes. "Mac, please, put me out of my misery. I need to know what happened last night!"

If it had been anyone else, Mac would have quipped back that it was a _want_ , not a _need_ , but Veronica genuinely did need to know. Information was her lifeblood as much as technology was Mac's. She could hardly deny a fellow addict.

But she could fuck with her, just a little.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear us, actually." Mac said glibly as she booted up her monitors.

V made a melodramatic retching sound from her desk that Mac couldn't help but laugh at. "Look, Bond, nothing happened. We drank a little, played never have I ever, and talked. I may or may not have played him because I wanted to clear that weird tension he's had with me. It worked, a little at least. I no longer feel like he wants to throw woodchips in my face when I walk through the door, like he used to do in elementary school." It had only happened once, and Mac had just happened to be in the line of fire. His actual target, she remembered warmly, had been a boy in Dick's original grade level that kept making fun of Cassidy's "girly" name.

Veronica was eyeing her suspiciously, but that was the truth. Not really the whole truth, but the closest approximation that Mac was willing to risk at the moment. And it was definitely close enough to be convincing. "Alright, Mac-attack, if you say so. I just…I just want you to be careful. We both know Dick. And I know he's changed, grown up, whatever, but it still seems like a bit of a gamble. Just know that I always put a taser in your backpack, should you ever need it."

Mac rolled her eyes, but was grateful for Veronica's fierce protectiveness, not for the first time. "Yeah, about that. What if I ever go into a federal building with that thing by accident? I could get arrested!"

V waved that away with a little flip of her blond hair. "Then you will be a true member of the Mars Investigations team."

"Still, I don't think –" a less-than-gentle rapping on the door broke Mac's protest in two.

V went to the door to let in their ten o'clock, and both girls stood with poorly-hidden shock at the person standing there.

She loped into the office with light steps, as though she were afraid the old linoleum flooring would devalue her Louboutins. Her pert nose turned up slightly as she glanced around the dated office, and she promptly declined a seat or beverage. At a bit of a loss for the first time possibly ever, Veronica came behind the desk to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mac.

"Girls, let's not pretend this is anything less than excruciating." Mac was somehow not at all surprised to detect a British accent in her curt tone. It lent an even greater gravitas to her already imposing person. "I'm Stacia Kissinger – "

"We know who you are." They interrupted in unison, morbidly pleased at how it seemed to upbraid Stacia.

She covered it with the practiced grace of someone who is either of charmed breeding or who frequently interacts with the seedy and smarmy. In her case, both.

"Well then, you know what I do. I have a client who requires the services of Mars Investigations. They are being blackmailed for a small fortune, with preposterous but potentially devastating information. " Kissinger's bread and butter was extraordinarily lucrative legal disputes. She was basically Olivia Pope for Neptune's Fortune 500, which meant she was doused in both cash and corruption. Rumor had it that she was the brains behind Luke Halderman Senior's most prestigious court cases, as well as a host of slander and libel cases that quickly endeared her to the elite. From solicitation to gross negligence, if you had a problem and upwards of seven figures to spare, Stacia was your girl.

Which all begged the question… "Why are you here, Ms. Kissinger?" Veronica blurted before Mac had the chance to ask the same question.

The statuesque woman picked a nonexistent piece of lint off of her Prada suit before flashing a conspiratorial grin. It made Mac very uncomfortable, but she tried not to show it. "An excellent question, Ms. Mars. The sad truth is that, since my clients are hoping to avoid legal proceedings all together, their situation calls for a more…unique approach. Mars Investigations has garnered quite a reputation for its efficiency as well as its discretion, despite its extremely _humble_ origins."

The word sounded like an insult on her tongue, which is clearly exactly how she meant it.

"Look, ladies, I'd really prefer to spend as little time here as possible. Here's all the information my clients are willing to provide. They'd like this handled as quickly and quietly as possible. They do not take these accusations lightly, and they'll make it well worth your while."

She passed them a file with a perfectly manicured hand. Mac took it and flipped it open. "Wait, you're not going to tell us their names? How the hell are we supposed to figure out who would want to blackmail them without their names?" Mac asked incredulously.

Stacia smirked at them again. "Well, Ms. MacKenzie, that's just it. My clients want absolutely no trace of their names on paper. So I'm going to say this once, and once only."

She let the suspense build, almost like Veronica would have. God, was everyone in this shady world so dramatic? It wasn't like there were actual cloaks and daggers involved in that many of the cases they worked.

"Well?" V urged, rapidly losing patience. Ironic.

"It's Stewart and Rose Manning."


	4. Chapter 4

"Don't be an idiot."

Dick whipped some residual ocean water from his hair, which was now just a little longer on the top than the sides but still managed to cling to his eyeballs whenever he surfed.

"Thanks, man. That means a lot coming from you." He shot back at Logan, shoving a splash at him. It missed.

"Dick, I'm serious. I've known you for nearly 20 years, and I have never seen you act so weird around anyone. Mac is one of the good ones. She's smart, and she's nice, and –"

"And she's Bobcat's best friend?" Dick interrupted. He had already clocked all the ways in which Mac was too good for him; he didn't really feel like his ego could take hearing it from his best friend too. That would make his fears _real._

Logan flushed a little at Dick's use of his private nickname for Veronica. _Well then they should be quieter,_ Dick thought sardonically.

"Yes, but that's not what I mean and you know it. She likes you, Dick. And not for your money or your body or your reputation. She likes you _in spite_ of all that, and she wants to be close to you, at least in part, because you shared Cassidy. And if you do something to fuck that kind of _good_ up, I swear to God man, Veronica won't be the only one looking for a place to hide your body." Logan finished, sending a weak splash back in Dick's general vicinity.

"Chill dude! I know what you're saying, but there is nothing to fuck up, as you so gently put it. She only ever comes around to hang with you and Ronnie." As he said it, Dick realized that he wanted Logan to refute him. Luckily –

"That's bullshit. She's there for you too. I guess what I'm trying to say is…make sure that you're there for her too, no matter what happens, because you know that she'd go to the mat for you. And I know you love that that's true."

Dick stared out at the horizon, thoughts swimming through his head like the dolphins in the distance. Sometimes he hated how presumptuous Logan could be about giving him advice, but mostly because he knew Logan was always right when he did. Dick just hoped this time was no different; he hoped to whatever power was out there that Logan was actually right about Mac's care for him. It was nice, and terrifying, in equal measure.

"Do you think she'd be up for a Pi Sig party this weekend?" He asked, slightly irritated that his eager tone betrayed him.

Logan just laughed loudly, evidently satisfied with his mentoring session. "Normally, I'd say 'fuck no'. But if you asked, I think she might just oblige." He shoved Dick on the arm, shaking off their heart-to-heart with a dose of bro-yness before sputtering a little. "Wait, did you say this weekend? You mean the annual Pi Sig couples costume Halloween bash?"

Yeah. Yeah, he did.

She had dodged out of her twelve o'clock lecture early, consumed with a desire for vegan nachos and unable to shake the Stacia Kissinger mystery from her mind long enough to focus on what her over-eager professor was pitching. The class had some sensationalized title like "The Next Generation: Emerging Markets in Technology" or something, but it was basically a whole course dedicated to overviewing the possible careers paths comp sci majors could pursue as they rapidly approached their push from the nest and into the big bad world. Not really a mandatory attendance, as far as Mac was concerned.

Stopping at one of the few vegan-friendly places in Neptune on the way, she went back to MI intent on getting a jump on the Manning case while everyone was out. Something about the situation just wasn't reading right to her, in part because she had seen the way Veronica stilled beside her when Stacia revealed the clients. Her Bond had been saved by another meeting with the psych department head, but she must know that they couldn't solve the case with Mac only half-informed.

Her craving satisfied, Mac begins to dig a little into the Mannings. Stewart's congregation's page is rife with repugnantly sexist religious strictures that make Mac wonder how Meg had turned out so sweet and confident, but it doesn't look sketchy in any other way. People post on the church's forum almost daily about how attending services have improved their family dynamic, how their kids are more respectful; there's even a photo of Mr. Manning laughing with a bunch of kids at what looks like a baseball park, like on a youth group trip. He seems beloved, even if his views on women and child-rearing are outdated and misogynistic.

Rose, it seems, plays her part as the doting, supportive wife well. The church's website and her Facebook page are chock full of photos of her at various community outreach programs, from food banks to animal shelters. She seems busy, but not employed. Shocker, if Stewart actually practices what he preaches. A cursory glance at their financials indicates wealth that no man of God should possess, but nothing off-shore or Swiss to point her in the direction of corruption. Chewing absently on a Red Vine, Mac excavates a little more and discovers that Rose is an heiress; her father was a highly successful televangelist in the seventies. Her only brother passed away from a freak infection after a routine appendectomy when they were in their teens, prompting her father to gift her with enormous financial gains but no stake in the family business whatsoever. Clearly, she married someone just like him. Mac feels a pang of disgust and pity for the course Rose Manning's life must have taken. Under all those philanthropic smiles lurked a woman deeply harmed by self-righteous men who, in the end, manipulated her into inequitable, sexist positions. Still, she managed to raise very kind daughters. That's no easy feat.

Rough, but nothing remotely suspicious pops out. Even Rose's father's empire, disgusting and predatory as it was, was totally legal.

The familiar frustration of banging her head against a wall began to wear on Mac's still slightly hungover mind. She pushed out from her desk, spinning once in her chair, and grabbed her book and pencils from the bottom drawer. She booted up Pandora on the desktop before lying on her stomach on the hardwood floor behind her desk, intent on clearing her head.

Naturally, that's when Dick crept through the MI door, with uncharacteristic silence.

He stepped gingerly over to the desk, hoping to do this without arousing Ronnie's suspicions. A quick peak around confirmed that she wasn't there, but he didn't see Mac either. He went over to check her computer, hearing David Bowie's "Heroes" softly emanating from the speakers, when a small movement caught his eye.

Her black Converse, the ones he remembered lying near the door on the floor of his parents' house on more than one occasion, were swinging up and down gently, like a kid might do on a swing. He leant over the desk, saw her lying on the floor propped on her elbows, and finally broke his stealth mode with an unrestrained laugh. Suddenly, he was more confident that he was here for the right reasons.

"Mackenzie, are you _coloring_?"

Her small body jolted a little at the burst of sound, but she recovered quickly and just smirked up at him, totally at ease.

"Yes, yes I am. It helps me clear my head sometimes. I was getting nowhere on this case and I just needed a break." The way she said it, with such easy assuredness, made the situation seem less childish but no less adorable. His hand instinctively reached out to help her up as she stood, and she took it even though she clearly didn't need it.

"Anyway, besides catching me in the act, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Casablancas?" She shuffled the colored pencils into even rows before sliding them carefully back into the carton. Damn good thing she wasn't looking at him, because the chilly nervousness had returned to his body.

"I have a question for you."

"Something you couldn't ask over text? Uh oh, is it illegal? No, Dick, I can't help you track all the Thetas' phones. Well, I can, but I won't."

"Ha ha, very funny Mackie." Her cute, self-satisfied half-smirk took the bite out of her jab. "I actually came, uh, to see if…maybe…you wanted to go to a Pi Sig party this weekend." He finally looked up at her through his falling hair; he couldn't control his heartbeat when her grin turned into a full-blown smile of acceptance. The room seemed brighter with that smile in it.

"Sure, Dick. I'll go to a party this weekend. Logan and Veronica coming too?"

He rushed to tell her the rest of the proposition, afraid that he might abandon the whole endeavor if he didn't push the words out now. "Well, yes, but I meant, would you maybe want to go _with_ me? I mean, it's the annual Pi Sig couples costume bash, and I thought maybe you'd want to be my date."

Mac's face flushed a little, and she brushed some hair out of her face. But her smile stayed put. "Uh yeah, I guess that would be cool." She watched in disbelief as the tension flooded from his frame, replaced by that SoCal surfer ease that he had mastered in elementary school. "Did you have a costume in mind?"

Now it was his turn to smirk, but it was much more devilish than she could ever manage. It raised her body temperature in an instant, like he flicked a switch. She wasn't so sure how to feel about that, but Mac had a sneaking suspicion that she could grow to like it. Love it, maybe.

"As a matter of fact, I did."


	5. Chapter 5

"I have never regretted anything more in my entire life, and I once hacked my parents' protected photo collection by accident." Mac griped as she teetered on her shoes. The heels of her boots weren't difficult at all, but evidently some idiot thought it was a brilliant idea to put grass all around the most well-traveled frat house in the entire god-damn state. Her only solace was that Veronica wasn't faring much better.

The blonde had chosen a much chunkier, much higher heel for the event, and consequently appeared to be literally walking on stilts the entire way. Even with the four inches, V barely came up to her date's shoulder.

Logan stood between the two girls, with each on an arm, practically preening like a peacock. Smug bastard. The costume certainly wasn't helping, but Mac had to hand it to him, he wore it well. Not even the bright purple pants, pumpkin-colored vest, and genuinely ridiculous, floppy green bowtie could distract from the whole ensemble's impeccable tailoring, or its wearer's wolfish grin. The whole sight made Mac wonder why no one had ever nicknamed him "The Joker" before this night.

Obviously, Veronica was forced into a frilly, clearly fantasy-provoking Harley Quinn costume that actually fit the girl's body perfectly. Her personality was another story. She looked great, even without the face paint and quote "not taser-y enough" mallet, but she simply could not manage to keep the character's trademark eerie smile on her face, especially since she had to keep adjusting her fishnets.

Mac was, for sure, miserable, but also pretty grateful that she had gotten the more comfortable costume of the two. Apparently Dick and Logan had planned them before the school year had even started; Mac would have put a pretty penny on the boys just trying to reenact a favorite childhood game of theirs, even if they had both scoffed when she said so. Or maybe especially because of that.

Secretly, Mac had been a little excited when Dick had revealed the plan, though she did her best to look put-upon. She was pretty sure Dick saw right through it anyway. Poison Ivy had always been a favorite of hers – she had wanted to be a botanist as a kid until a freak dandelion-blowing incident turned into massive hives and an ER trip in the fourth grade. And so here she stood, or rather wobbled, on the steps of the biggest Pi Sig bash this side of Sex Quest wearing a forest green, spandex bodysuit. It was essentially a one-piece bathing suit with ridiculous molded bra cups built in and leaves sprouting from vines all over her body, but with lighter green tights, thigh-high leather boots, and the requisite temporary red hair dye, Mac was pretty damn proud of her costume. And she kind of couldn't wait to see her date.

"Hey bro!" Logan's deep voice cut through the crowd as he waved to Dick. Speak of the devil.

Fuck.

He looked perfect.

Mac and Veronica had been pretty skeptical when he proudly revealed that he was going as Deadshot. "He and Poison Ivy were never technically a thing," He had explained, looking more impish and adorable than possibly ever in his infectious excitement, "But I mean, come on. They were totally the hottest. They had to have fucked."

It wasn't a terribly eloquent explanation, but Mac wasn't about to rain on his parade. Even Veronica seemed unusually disinclined to burst his bubble.

The costume was straight from the comic books; it looked like they had used Dick for the original model, for Christ's sake. Mac swore that the outlines of abs and pecs on his torso were actually molded to his body. The red suit highlighted his hard-earned physique, the faux-silver caging making him appear even more imposing, but Mac didn't find him intimidating at all. Instead, she was magnetized. He had forgone the trademark mask, blessedly, because it would have been a god damn crime to cover up the stubble he'd been letting grow just for this particular occasion. It was doing things to her, comic-book tropey type things that made her concerned about how thin her outfit was. His iconic surfer hair was slicked back in a tantalizing way, with just the front flipping over to obscure his red eyepatch.

Mac had never been so thrilled to have been pressured into a costume in her life.

Not that it happened that frequently.

Even her profoundly uncomfortable costume couldn't keep Veronica from noticing Mac's practically slack-jawed reaction to Dick's appearance. She had to hand it to him; if he kept his mouth shut, even she couldn't resist the heat coming off him. Unfortunately for V, Dick also noticed this and responded in kind with a lecherous, overt appraisal.

"Damn, Ronnie. You know, there were some particularly _memorable_ moments between Deadshot and Harley, if you know what I mean." Cue painful-looking eyebrow wag.

Veronica didn't have time to wretch, though, or even to register Logan's arm tightening around her. She was too busy watching Dick – obnoxious, aptly-named, rough, tragedy-softened Dick – fall head over heels for her best friend. She could literally see it happening. His sneer melted into a caring, private smile; his eyes widened and darkened all at once; his body oriented toward Mac like a needle on a compass. One glance at Logan confirmed that he too was melting into a puddle right there on the Pi Sig lawn.

Fuck.

"Mac...I…You…Um…" Now that seemed much more like Dick.

Mac blushed, which somehow brought out the green in her eyes and the red tint in her hair even more than the green bodysuit. Damn it. Logan squeezed Veronica even tighter, confirming her suspicion that they were going to have to get behind this…whatever it is.

"You look perfect." He finally managed.

"Thanks, Dick. I think we're a perfect match."

Mac chose her words carefully, and it paid off. She could have sworn there actual stars in his eye(s).

"A perfect group, if I do say so myself." Logan smoothly interjected. "Let's do this! Suicide Squad in the house!"

Mac reached out and squeezed Dick's hand when Logan shouted "suicide", hoping they were close enough for him to understand the gesture. He half-smiled sweetly in return, letting her know that he appreciated it – and was prepared for it to happen again. Unsurprisingly, Cass had loved Halloween. Turns out that when you wear a mask all the time, legitimizing it is a relief.

Honestly, Dick was just too struck by Mac to ruminate on his brother at the moment. It was going to be a long night, but somehow he knew that it would still be too short.

The party was full to the brim with boozy college kids, costumes running the gambit between winking back to childhood and staring too far into adulthood. In either case, people were wasted on those orangey, saccharine jack-o-lantern shots that Mac had refused each time a pledge proffered one.

She had drifted from Veronica and Logan almost immediately; they caught up with Wallace and Piz who somehow agreed to go as Power Rangers. At least she assumed they agreed on it. Maybe Piz had just picked them up and bribed Fennel.

Dick had hung on a little longer, but being a Pi Sig social chair had its downsides, and being wrenched from her company by two girls in candy striper costumes appeared to be one of them. Mac had attempted to chat with another girl for a bit; she was perfectly nice but looked very uncomfortable, so when her brother came to signal their departure, the petite blonde in the predictable Tinkerbell costume had practically flown right out the door, no pixie dust required.

Mac meandered outside, braving the grass again in her boots for a chance at some air that didn't smell of fresh polyester and vodka. She wandered over to the miraculously well-kept hedges dividing Pi Sig from the neighboring sorority house, inspecting a late bloom on the bush before she became aware of someone near her.

She turned around, face already a calm mask of indifference.

"Hey there, babe." A bulky guy in an expensive looking pirate get-up sidled up to her. He was wobbling a bit, but the very mild scent of alcohol on his breath made Mac think that he wasn't as drunk as he was pretending to be. Which somehow made her more uneasy than less so.

"I am not your babe." She replied evenly, watching as his eyes turned a little more steely. She was suddenly hyper-aware of the waxy wall of leaves brushing her back, the din of music and chatter between her and the house, the distance between them and the other party-goers. Mac's body became flooded with adrenaline, and the memories of Grad Night and her training since then flooded in with it.

 _Wait for it, Mackenzie. Don't be rash._

The guy moved a step closer, looking her up and down. He smelled more like expensive cologne than booze, and when he stepped into her light, Mac remembered him as a brother here. That meant that Dick knew him, and he knew Dick.

"Mmm, I saw you hanging around with Casablancas earlier."

Fuck.

He spat the words at her like an accusation, cold and hard, like she was his.

She was not. She wasn't anyone's. Not anymore.

"Are you fucking that dimwit? I mean he's a pretty boy, alright, but a sweet little piece like you could _do_ much better."

"Step away from me, please." Mac made her voice match his, giving him every opportunity to step back, as she rapidly searched over his head for Dick, Veronica, Logan, Wallace, or hell even Piz.

His gray eyes got even colder, and his muscled arms came to rest on either side of her body, penning her in.

"I'm not going anywhere, _babe_. I'm going to show you how much better you can do that that fucking Casablancas trash." She forced the bile back down her throat, forced her mind not to panic, forced herself to ask one more time, perversely hoping that he gave her a reason to prove herself, realizing how demented that was.

"Step back. Now."

As his arm muscles tensed and his brows knit together in a snarl, she moved, letting her trained body work on instinct.

She brought her right arm up and across both of his arms, which remained on either side of her neck, while grabbing his right hand with hers. Turning further into him, she yanked on his captive wrist while striking him in the jaw twice with her right elbow. He staggered back, cursing at her, but she was off the hedge.

Some blessed part of her mind tallied that people were starting to notice his screams, some were fetching other brothers from the house, but she didn't need them anymore. It was an exhilarating, liberating, _finally_ kind of feeling.

The dickhead staggered back and to her left as she elbowed him, giving her the space to wedge her right leg behind his right knee. Switching grips so that she had a fulcrum at his elbow, she throttled him with her right hand and pulled with her left, effectively tripping him over her sweeping leg as she shoved him to his back on the ground.

Finally, she moved her right leg to his chest, knee on solar plexus, toe on groin, as she kept her grip on his neck. There was a decent crowd now, but she knew that one of her friends would be pulling her off if they had arrived on the scene yet.

"What is your name?" She ground out through her teeth, pride surging through her veins.

He spat at her in response, so she bounced her leg, pegging him right in the groin with the toe of her boot. He yelped and wriggled beneath her, trying to protect himself.

"Again, what is your name? Or next time, I use these super high heels of mine."

She tried not to revel in the terror in his eyes as he whimpered, "Chase. Chase D'Angelo."

"Thank you. Now Chase, clearly you picked the wrong person to fuck with tonight, but the best part is that you have no idea how wrong. You remember that campus rape case last year? I helped solve it? And remember that nasty computer virus three months ago that shut down the online edition of the points ledger for Sex Quest? Me. And remember how I know your name now? The things I could do with that!"

The crowd was eerily silent, so she leant down menacingly close to this fucker's face.

"So Chase, if I ever see you within one hundred yards of me again, or if I ever catch even a whisper of you bothering another girl, hell, even talking to another girl, I'll burn your whole pathetic little world down. Do you understand me?"

The fear and embarrassment in his eyes were answer enough for her. The second she felt him stop struggling beneath her, she knew she had won, and released him.

She stood, feet apart arms crossed head high, feeling very much like a comic book hero after all, as he shuffled from the ground.

Suddenly, she found herself meeting Dick's awestruck eyes across the crowd, locking on her as his costume demanded. She met his gaze steadily, that odd sense of pride and agency rushing through her again. She even managed a confident, comfortable little smile.


End file.
